


A Man by Any Other Name

by Veldari



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2152680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veldari/pseuds/Veldari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah, beautiful. He had remembered her beauty, ruminated on it for six long years. On the day she turned twenty-one he had arrived in her home, in her kitchen, in the middle of her breakfast with a bouquet of purple fairy buds and her birthday gift: Him.</p><p>He had been as unprepared for the way time had enhanced the beauty he remembered as he had been for the glass of milk she had thrown at his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man by Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago and it's been posted on ff.net for years. Since I like this place better I thought I'd shine it up and post it here. I hope you enjoy. Also, I don't own Labyrinth.

He had his prize, his treasure. He had expected a fight, and he had received one, but in the end winning her over had been a simple matter of determination and charm. She wasn't the same spoiled child she had been six years ago, she hadn't been looking for a fight. Her resistance was more a matter of pride than anything else. What she had really wanted from him was answers, and after a little game of hard to get he had provided them. Ah, beautiful. He had remembered her beauty, ruminated on it for six long years. On the day she turned twenty-one he had arrived in her home, in her kitchen, in the middle of her breakfast with a bouquet of purple fairy buds and her birthday gift: Him.

He had been as unprepared for the way time had enhanced the beauty he remembered as he had been for the glass of milk she had thrown at his head. He shrugged it off, the milk not the beauty. He had startled her, after all. Maybe he should have sent a note first, but he had wanted her off her guard. Two weeks, that's all it had taken. Two weeks to go from throwing milk to throwing rice. Figuratively of course, no one really throws rice anymore. Bad for the birds and all that.

It had taken him just two weeks to bring her home, to his castle, to his bed, to his heart. And all she had asked for, demanded actually, was that she be allowed to bring her big hairy mongrel Merlin along with her. He had agreed readily. Had he known the headache it would cause him, he would have put his foot down. How was he to know that dogs have such a short life span, or that old Merlin was nearing the end of his? Maybe if it had occurred to him he could have done something for the old boy, extended his life a few years, but he honestly had had no idea.  And so it was that after six months of wedded bliss, the mongrel had ruined everything by dying.

This brings us to the point of this story, the moral if you will. And that moral is simply this: That all men, mortal or immortal, Human, King or commoner, Fae or Otherwise, are predictable idiots. Think I'm wrong? Think on this. When a man is faced with a heartbroken woman, _his_ heartbroken woman to be precise, he handles it in three distinct stages.

**STAGE I: Denial. She's crying. How can I make her stop?**

Jareth climbed out of bed gingerly, stretching his tired muscles, and reluctantly throwing his robe on. He glanced at the girl still sleeping peacefully and paused to pull the blanket up around her neck and kiss her cheek. She smiled and murmured something in her sleep, snuggling down farther in the blankets. He grinned at his prize, and then turned his attention to the mongrel animal at the foot of the bed. Immediately he knew something was wrong. Merlin was usually sitting up wagging his tail, waiting for Jareth to take him down into the garden first thing in the morning. But not this morning. This morning he was unnaturally still. Jareth had very little experience with death. In a world where most creatures lived extraordinarily long lives if they died at all, death was rare. Yet the sinking feeling of dread that suddenly formed in the pit of Jareth's stomach was not entirely unfamiliar.

"Damn." He said softly, running his hand over the soft fur. Merlin didn't move, and he never would again. "Damn, damn, damn." He added. He sat down, Indian style, next to his lady's childhood companion, and continued to absently stroke his fur, as though somewhere Merlin would still lavish the attention. "Do you have any idea the trouble you've caused me?" Jareth asked, not expecting a response. Unfortunately he received one. "Honey, who are you talking to?" Sarah asked sleepily. Jareth jumped, and began to stutter. Sarah narrowed her eyes. He was acting like Toby did when he had broken something and was trying to hide it.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up. "What have you done?" Jareth frowned at this, his pride wounded and his discomfort forgotten.

"Me? I didn't do anything. I found him like this." He immediately regretted the words, because Sarah was out of bed in a flash.

"Found who like what? She asked. _Don't look down, don't look down_. His hands were sweating, she shouldn't find out like this. Sarah looked down. _Damn_. Sarah fell to her knees, a mournful keening escaping from her lungs. _Damn Damn_. Sarah laid her head across the form of her deceased pet and began to cry. Not softly, no ladylike sniffles for his Sarah. No, her sobs were long and loud and made the hairs in his ears vibrate. The sound shook him from his reverie and he knelt beside her, taking her in his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Sarah." He whispered.

She looked up at him, hope in her eyes. "You can fix him!" she cried.

Jareth frowned. "What?" The hope faded from her eyes, replaced by crazy.

"Use your magic! You can fix him! I've seen you fix worse!"

Jareth recoiled. "Worse than death? I'm flattered darling, but even I'm not that powerful. Maybe if…" he began, but stopped himself. She certainly didn't need to know he may have been able to prevent it yesterday if he had known there was something to prevent.

"Maybe what, Jareth?" she asked. Hope and crazy were running neck and neck now.

Jareth watched her a moment, then put his arm around her. "Nothing dear. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do but help you bury him." He literally watched her face break, and she began to cry again, throwing herself over her lifelong friend and rocking him gently as she wailed. Jareth sighed. It was going to be a bad day.

 

 **STAGE II: Anger**.  **She won't stop crying. What the hell is wrong with her?**

Jareth sat perched in his window, one hand holding an orb and the other pinching the bridge of his nose to block out the headache that had been steadily drumming away at his brain for the last two weeks. Two weeks, and she was still mourning that stupid dog! She walked around like a zombie all day long, and the slightest things would set her to wailing again. All it took was for someone to mention dogs, or cats, or anything with fur. Small living creatures in general really.  He had had to throw away the ancient hand woven goblin rug in the dining hall because Merlin had once soiled it, and the stain made her cry. The Garden where they had buried him was off limits, he had guards posted at the doors to keep her away from the wing of the castle that led to it.

He should be in bed now, but a glance in his crystal had told him that instead of sleeping his lovely wife was curled up at the foot of the bed, in Merlin's spot, with Merlin's favorite chewy ball in her hands, crying her eyes out. He would be sleeping in the study again tonight. The dog had died and he was in the dog house. Jareth stood and threw the crystal down angrily. Enough was enough! He had been more than patient. He had done everything in his power to cheer her up. He had tried to pretend that everything was alright, making it easier for her to do so, but she had turned her nose up at that. He had reassured her over and over that Merlin was in a better place, and she should move on with her life, but she had flat out ignored him. And when he had kindly suggested that she take her mind off it by taking on a project, such as remodeling the dungeon, she had become angry.

Well, this was the last straw, he'd be damned if he would have to walk on eggshells in his own home. It was time to put his foot down. He stormed into the bedroom making as much noise as he could. He looked down at his wife and steeled his heart against the sight of her heartbroken tears. It was time to set things right, not fall back into her trap. No more mind games, he was done being miserable. "Sarah, get up!" he ordered. She looked up at him with her brokenhearted tear streaked face and he almost cracked. Almost.

"What?" She sobbed. He reached down and took her arm, gently but firmly, and pulled her to her feet.

"I said get up." He told her. "I've had enough of this. It's time to get over it."

"Get over it?" Sarah growled in disbelief. "What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong is I'm tired of seeing my wife wander around our home sounding like a banshee and looking worse. You're not acting like a Queen, you're acting like a spoiled child. Now its time to grow up and get over this. He was just a dog for light's sake!" The instant he said it he knew it was a mistake. The look on her face was one of shock, horror and disbelief, none of which boded well for him. He cringed, expecting her to throw something at him, something sharp, heavy, and accurate. But the angry look on her face faded nearly as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by the familiar sorrowful expression mixed with hurt. He had hurt her. He had meant to reason with her, loudly, and she had been hurt by it instead. What was wrong with her?

Tears began rolling out of her eyes, silent tears which were somehow much much worse than the wailing. She turned and quietly, oh so quietly, picked up her pillow and the only comforter from their bed and walked toward the door. "Where are you going?" he asked softly, reaching for her arm but she snatched away from his touch without looking at him.

"Away from you." She answered, as the door closed with deafening softness behind her.

 

**STAGE III: Bargaining. She's STILL crying! I'll do anything to make her stop!**

Jareth sat slumped in his throne, listening to the mindless prater of yet another goblin complaining about his neighbor stealing chickens. It didn't seem to matter how many times Jareth suggested a fence, or a coop, or some manner of keeping chickens separated, the goblins still let them all roam free and then complained when they turned up on some other goblin's property. As the plaintiff prattled on, he spared a glance for Sarah sitting on her throne next to him. She appeared to be paying attention, but he knew her mind was elsewhere.

It had been six weeks since Merlin's passing, and four since the unfortunate incident in their bedroom. She was no longer crying at the drop of a hat, but she still cried often, and she never smiled. He had almost forgotten what her smile looked like. She was speaking to him again as well, and even yelling sometimes, but no where near as much as she used to. It was as if her fire was gone. God's, he missed her fire. He missed her. He was absolutely miserable, because she was miserable. What a miserable predicament.

He slumped a little further. "Have you thought of putting up a fence?" He heard her ask, and chuckled softly to himself. _Nice try, my sweet._ The Goblin looked horrified. "A fence?" He gasped. "How can me chases them if they can't runs away?" Sarah sighed.

"Well, then why don't you just steal one of his chickens?" Sarah said.

The goblin's face beamed, and Jareth's ears perked up. Why had he never thought of that? "Yes, in fact, it's a new royal decree. If your neighbor steals one of your chickens, you steal one of his."

The goblin began to dance. "Thank you, Kingses!" he said before running happily out of the throne room.

"Well, pet, that was a stroke of genius." Jareth grinned.

"Thank you." Sarah said sadly, and looked away.

Jareth sighed, and moved to kneel at the foot of her throne. He gently took her chin in his hands and turned her to face him. " Sarah, how can I make you smile again? What can I do to help you?"

Immediately the tears formed in her eyes, and she buried her head in his shoulder. "I don't know." She sobbed into his shirt collar. "I just don't know."

He held her for a few minutes before a thought jumped into his head. Before he could strangle it it escaped off his tongue and between his traitorous lips. "Would you be happy again if I got you a puppy?"

She pulled away and looked at him, sniffing, her head cocked slightly to one side as though she were deep in thought. He couldn't believe how much she looked like a little girl just then. A fragile little girl he would do anything to protect. "Wh..Wh..what kind of puppy?" she asked through her sobs.

Jareth smirked. _I win again._ Two days later Jareth was leading Sarah blindfolded into a cave. She followed him trustingly, despite the damp and the dark and the smells and the noise. She held onto his hands and asked no questions, though her curiousity was nearly killing her. When they finally reached their destination he took off the blindfold, pausing to kiss her gently on the back of the neck. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim torchlight, but when it did she squealed in delight.

Before her were a dozen or so little creatures she had never seen before. They were longish, with a fine covering of thick fur in colors you rarely associated with furry creatures. Purples, blues, dark reds, greens, even some pink ones. They were gathered around a larger one, whom she assumed was their mother. She resembled a dog, though she was longer, and pink, with reptilian eyes and a small set of membranous wings protruding from her back. She nuzzled one of her pups lovingly and flicked out a forked tongue at it.

"Oh, Jareth, they're beautiful!" Sarah squealed again. "What are they?"

"They're called Drakin." Jareth said, pleased with himself to no end. "Would you like to hold one?"

"Oh yes!" Sarah said, clapping her hands.

"With your permission." Jareth said, addressing the mother. The creature bowed her head to the king and he knelt, picking up the smallest of the litter. He handed it to Sarah, who immediately began to nuzzle its soft fur. The tiny drakin flicked its forked tongue against her cheek and Sarah laughed happily.

"He has wings!" Sarah exclaimed. Jareth smiled.

"Vestigial, really. They're part canine and part dragon, but they don't fly. Although when they're grown they can glide very well."

Sarah's eyes grew wide. "Part dragon? Do they breathe fire?"

"Of course not, pet." Jareth laughed. "If they did I could hardly let you bring on into the castle.

For the first time since he had handed her the little creature she drew her attention away from it completely to look at her husband. "You mean I can keep it?" She asked excitedly.

"Of course you can, darling. I promised you a puppy didn't I?" He bent down and picked up a red one, slightly bigger than the one Sarah was holding. He was a bit more laid back, resting his head on Jareth's shoulder and sighing contentedly.

Sarah threw her arms around Jareth and both puppies grunted at the disturbance. Jareth kissed her before pulling away and petting his drakin absently. "Do you know which one you want?" he asked her.

Sarah held her drakin at arms length and then glanced around at the others. Then she frowned. "Sarah, what's wrong?" Jareth asked, suddenly concerned that his plan may not be working as well as he had hoped.

Sarah bit her lip. "It's just that it's so hard to pick just one." She answered finally, then glanced up at Jareth hopefully. "Can I have two?"

Did I say men were predictable idiots? I meant predictable, adorable, idiots.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was actually loosely based on a real situation with my husband. Please review!


End file.
